


Heated Rescue

by RomanceOnExpress



Series: Trashy Smut Fics [4]
Category: Call of Duty, modern warfare
Genre: F/M, OC, Original Character(s), POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:57:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanceOnExpress/pseuds/RomanceOnExpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission gone horribly wrong. An assassination botched. They had to lay low, work together, and suck up their pride. Their basic needs shortly take place under pressure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heated Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Facts for this one are a mix between the comic book made about Modern Warfare 2: Ghost, and MW2.  
> *Update* I'll be expanding this story into more of a multi-chapter work, but until then I'm going to update this one and leave it as is.

I wish I could say why it went wrong. Wish I could put the blame on either that idiot or me. As it stands, I can’t be certain, and that bugs me. That _really_ bugs me. But, well, I suppose in re-analysis, it was both our faults that the target escaped with only a mental breakdown. I still want to blame that damned Brit though…

-

I had the whole job planned, down to the minute detail. The target’s location, the habits of the guards, my escape route and cover zone. The drug dealer would be entering the lobby at approximately 21:08, usually with an escort or two. He’d arrive at the penthouse at 21:10, the escorts’ shirt and his pants slightly wrinkled. For the next few hours they’d romp around the room, trying new positions on pieces of furniture. If they hadn’t had much to drink, they’d go to the washroom and try out his jet-powered tub, then pass out on the bed for roughly three hours till he gets up to piss.

That’s when I’d take him. No need to involve the escort. She was paid to do what she was paid to do. So was I.

My choice of weapon – a rifle with red laser sights – was provided by a rival dealer. Someone had decided that this guy needed some serious taking-off-the-streets, and my own supplemental research lead me to believe that his dabble into arms-dealing was starting to encroach on my clients business. Sitting in an abandoned room across the street, I viewed everything that he did since he entered the building. Two escorts this time. That would make their alibis more solid. Never mind the fact that the bullet will come from the window, not the bed. I always felt guilty killing someone in front of people who were completely uninvolved.

Dressed in heavy black, my hair was tightly tucked away; my face covered in a soft balaclava. A track suit covered me, my figure well concealed. Underneath was a tight corset that restricted my sizable breasts for the inevitable run. It also doubled as my getaway disguise. A block down the street was an all night sex club, where you could drop in or book a booth/room. I had been booked to a fake name for 02:00, and if all goes well I’ll be ready in there entertaining a lucky sap before the police arrive to the dealers’ suite, providing me cover and a hell of an adrenalin release.

Other than the fact that I had to pay for the room out of my own pocket, the plan was foolproof. Or, at least, I’d thought so.

After the target had gotten through his late night exercise, slept, and woken up to take his break, it was 01:52. Perfect timing. Sliding a large round into the chamber, I prepared to take the shot, waiting patiently for him to move to the bathroom first. Might as well let him empty his bowels before killing him. Though he deserved lying in his own feces, I was again thinking of the investigators and the women in bed. That’d certainly gross them out.

Now’s where things get hinky. Before the bastard could even make it to the washroom, the door to the suite slammed open, flooding the room and my sights with blinding light from the hall. In charged a man wearing a skull balaclava and sunglasses (definitely not one of the guards), heading straight for my target. Gritting my teeth, I aimed the sight for the target’s chest, and squeezed the trigger in a rush.

The new arrival slammed into the target, dropping them both below the bullet’s path as the rifle recoiled into my shoulder. The escorts woke up, screaming for help as the two men wrestled on the now glass-covered floor. No doubt the masked man could see my laser sight.

I scanned the building for activity, all of the hired help rushing to the room at the sound of my gunshot. Curiously enough, the intruder shoved the target towards the door into the many guards as a distraction, broke the window I shot through, latched a grappler onto something below the sill (the room’s climate control, I assumed), and threw himself out the window while aiming a small fire arm in my direction. I wasn’t able to retaliate, still trying for a shot at my now very heavily guarded target, pushing him out of the room and out of my sights. If I wanted to live free, I’d have to bail and leave the target alive, else really risk getting caught, potentially tortured, and killed if I attempted to wait and take the shot again.

“…Fuck…” I dropped everything and ran for the fire escape.

Hoping to avoid the masked idiot, I ran through the back alley behind my nest building. As I was nearing the club, the force of a particularly pissed off man slammed into my back from an adjacent alley, arms encircling me, taking us both down to the dirty cement. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hoped that my skin wasn’t damaged where the leather wouldn’t cover. I threw the man off me in a roll as I pumped my legs to run again. Distantly I could hear static garble as a masculine voice shouted urgent warnings and orders.

He got up just as quickly, following me to the club. He pulled his side arm on me as I reached the side door to the joint, and I questioned why he didn’t just shoot me there. Unless he was under orders to capture only, then that would explain plenty of his actions tonight. He reached to his ear piece, flicked it off or quiet, and advanced on me.

Swallowing hard, I calculated my options. I had no idea who this man worked for, thus capture was a very unpredictable outcome. I could attempt to disarm him and set him up for the guards and police, but that required the possibility that I even could take him down without my own weapons. Never mind that I have no idea if he’s with the police or not, possibly drawing more attention to me. Inviting him into the club with me seemed stupid, but it was a fair exchange for safety, besides the fact I’d be screwing a fellow trained killer.

In the distance were screams, shouts, and sirens closing in on us from all sides of the alley. Our time was getting cut extremely short. I considered my options now. Ah, fuck it, “I have a room here booked for two am. I’ll let you stay with me till this has blown over if you let me live.”

His gun stayed trained on me, not moving in the slightest, though his pace halted. “And why would I go for that?” His British accent wasn’t common to find in the city, giving me the distinct impression that he wasn’t with the police here.

“Because you obviously weren’t here on his paycheck to just save that asshole’s life, and we’re about three cop cars away from getting incarcerated,” I said. “Never mind that five blocks in any and all directions around us are quickly crawling with either his guards or the police.” Including the one they were standing in.

After a long, risky few seconds of consideration he finally holstered it and walked toward me, almost running while muttering into the mic before taking it off. I made note of his hasty advance away from the authorities. I turned and opened the door to a service hall full of lockers, starting to strip as I walked to conserve time. As the black clothes and running boots came off, I hoped silently that the man following would take the hint from my leather corset and lace thong.

Finding my rightful locker, I unlocked it with a key attached to my belt loop and placed my light clothes inside, pulling out a set of knee-high heels and a mask. The man grabbed the mask from closely behind me, his arm brushing against my shoulder, before trying to shove his own gear and weapons in the relatively small space. I raised a brow, keeping my calm at his brash action and invasion of my space.

I turned to get a glimpse of my partner for the night, balancing haphazardly to fix my heels on my legs. He kept his boots – military issued (should’ve known) – and fingerless gloves, everything else removed including his own skull mask (though that was quickly replaced by mine) and black underwear. Hard muscle rippled as he finished working my mask on his head, exposing only his blue eyes and grim mouth.

As I finished lacing up my leather boots and scan of the scarred body in front of me, the man took the locker key and tucked it in the ankle of his boot. Just as well, I could sneak it back from him later.

Standing before me expectantly, he folded his arms across his well built chest, his legs braced apart in a position of expectation. Just looking at him was beginning to make me wet. Well, that, and the adrenaline. His scars told a story of a battle-hardened soldier – imperfect skin on men a bit of a turn on for me. A particularly noticeable one pocked his side, under his ribcage. The implications of it made me nearly lick my lips, the fact that such a wound should’ve killed him. Yet he stood before me, very much alive and at the least looking physically healthy. I shoved my curiosity away for the time being, instead focusing on his masculine scent and body to better my mood.

Mentally I prepared to let my inhibitions loose. Aloud I vocalized another question. “Should I just call you ‘Slave’ or do you have a name I can use while we play?”

He grunted lightly, shifting his weight. “Just Simon will do,” came his reply in that pretty accent. He inclined his head, eyeing up my appearance.

“Celine” I answered his unspoken question, using the same name I gave the club earlier.

He nodded, no change in his expression from my fake name. I redid my messed ponytail, dark waving locks forced smooth against my skull. We walked down the long hallway, my boot heels clicking loudly against the floor, while his own footfalls were near silent. I’ll admit, ‘Simon’ was very good at impromptu situations; he certainly held himself as someone who’s here for a fun romp.

Before we reached the door to the main floor, the Brit turned to focus on my face. “What were you doing there?” he spoke, voice containing some of his contempt and displeasure, but still growling. Way sexy. His eyes flashed dangerously behind the mask when I didn’t answer. “You owe me an explanation.”

He pushed himself a head of me, I assumed to cow me to slow down and cough up. I didn’t, knowing full well we were pressed for time. Even if he did spare me, I was still saving his hide. A very attractive hide, but still a possibly dead or captured hide without me. However, the look in his eyes told me not to test him, so I figured I’d stay on his good side till I left.

“I was hired to assassinate that man by a rival of his. You botched my job.” I added for good measure.

“Good. I hope something can be salvaged from this mess.”

I shook my head, mulling over what he just inadvertently admitted to me and what I’d already known from his dress and equipment. He was part of an organized team, possibly military, focusing on my target, and bent on intel. Fucking beautiful. I severely hoped I could get out of being tracked and silenced by them after this night was over. Hopefully whoever spoke to him over his mic earlier was more focused on their runaway businessman then me.

We soon made it to the door to the main attraction, the crack underneath illuminated by seemingly bright light compared to the hall we were in. I went through the door first, leading to my room, all the while formulating a new plan of escape.

We followed the dimly lit hall, booths of red and black full of similarly dressed people, writhing against each other. Grunts and moans were quieted by the soft walls, the only sounds besides distant music. Silk hung in drapes and canopies from the ceiling, light bouncing off them in a shine from the black and silver chandeliers. Black doors in very different styles staggered the halls, leading off to specialty rooms such as my own. Some designed as cells, others sealed by solid wood, and others still variations between.

 After a short walk past performing couples and triples, and a few lounging strays, we came to a set of doors, a gate of woven metal. Free for any and all to see the low bed sized couch, and anybody that may be inside. The tones reflected the hall, deep red walls and silk, gathered at the single light fixture in the center of the ceiling. The furniture was black, or dark brown, and sparse around the space. The tables were mostly used for fucking surfaces, I figured.

I reached between my breasts, grasping yet another key fastened into my corset, this one to the ‘private’ room. It slid easily into the concealed lock, clicking open with a slight turn. Simon reached out over me yet again, but this time I let myself enjoy his presence. He pushed the doors open, shutting them again as we both passed through. I didn’t worry about locking them again.

Turning around, I backed up to the couch, eyes locked on the silent Brit. “Come here, sweet Simon, and let us see what else you can surprise me with tonight.”

He paused before stalking towards me, following me until leather brushed my calves. I allowed myself to fall into the plush cushion, getting positioned into a comfortable lounge. His hand fell to the fly of his briefs, unbuttoning them to release his now noticeably straining hard on. A well-muscled and scarred leg lifted up and over my own, allowing his member to balance stiffly on my pelvis as he straddled me.

Sensing more then seeing movement at the gate, we got started, kissing hard and deep and convincingly. Hell, I was pretty convinced myself that he was into it, when minutes ago he’d been contemplating taking my life. Guess sex and death do commonly go hand-in-hand. Granted, he probably thought I tried to take his when he took down my target, but that was understandable. I’d try to shoot me too if I mistimed a bullet at someone’s head.

Sneaking a side peek at the gate, I counted three audience members gathered, two with their hands full of themselves. Hoping to better the show, I ground my hips upwards and sucked on my partners’ lower lip, nipping at bit at the end. In response Simon trailed a few kisses to my neck, focusing on an easy pleasure point at the juncture to my shoulder as his mask rubbed against my skin. I let myself moan slightly, giving into the sensation, but holding back enough to make me seem more professional at this.     

In all honestly, I’ve only ever slept with maybe two other fellow killers, both of which were targets. I don’t trust people into my bed that can kill with only a paperclip as a general rule. But anyone else was pretty much fair and open game to me.

I revised my next plan of action as the Brit focused on my collarbone next, nipping and sucking points of his interest. I’d hope that my sense of self preservation and stamina would leave me standing longer then Simon, so I could take my chance to knock him out with a well placed pinch, and book it out of there before his reinforcements could arrive and potentially spot me. If I was down first, I’d be fucked, quite literally and figuratively.

My attention came fully back to the room and Simon as he gently squeezed the sides of my corset, neatly pushing my breasts up and out of their confinement without loosening the ties. He stopped the pressure when my nipples quickly exposed themselves, hardened from the scrape of my top and the sudden freedom to the air. Without missing a beat Simon’s mouth sucked one in easily, caressing it with his tongue as his fingers toyed the other. Every few seconds he’d change it up, biting as his hand groped my breast, before going back to light licks and pinches. His free hand gripped and stroked my thigh, in time with his more relaxed pace.

My breath came out in short hot bursts as he switched sides, treating each breast to the teasing sensations. Each lick or bite or pinch or pull went straight to my crotch, quickly soaking the thin material there. His hips trapped mine against the couch, his cock hard against my thong. I did my best to keep my moans quiet, but I was really starting to feel warm and frustrated by the situation. My only choice was to keep calm as he continued, he being surely aware of my predicament through the fabric. In counter to him my fingers roamed his skin, lightly drawing swirling patterns with light touches before putting pressure behind my nails as they scraped down his ribcage. It was satisfying to feel his abdomen shutter.

Suddenly stopping, he grasped my hips with both hands, pulling away so quickly my hyper-sensitive nipples tightened further at the rush of cool air on saliva. His fingers dug in roughly as they pulled away the lace garment, nearly tearing the poor thing and my skin. Without much prompting on my part he rocked himself up and against my pussy, cockhead threatening to push past my swollen lips, barely uncovered in his rush. One hand came down to shove away the rest of the fabric, and I’m certain stitches tore at his impatience. Equally eager, I pushed the wet garment aside and spread my legs best I could with Simon’s caging me in.

Without any warning he pushed into me, filling me almost immediately in a quick, sure thrust. He held himself there as I groaned at the pressure, waiting for us to both adjust to the sudden slick heat. Before I could gather myself together he was already bucking his hips, making small, quick motions as his arms braced beside my head. My back arched as my hands grabbed his ass, nails digging in, urging him deeper.

He huffed his breaths nearly in time with mine, attempting to go further without reducing his speed. With an easy angling from my own hips he achieved it, burying himself deep and fast. Within minutes I could feel him peaking, his arms and legs clenching around me. In a sudden jerk upwards he came, spilling into me with a groan before making the same motion twice more.

I took in a breath, incredibly warm and horny now, and figured it had been a long time since he’d been able to get some sex. Slightly annoyed, I pulled myself away from him best I could, and reached down. Slowly, I started rubbing my clit, watching his eyes as they followed my hand, not yet tired, not yet recovered.

He let me pleasure myself, a wicked glint in his eye as his body relaxed, his breathing calming down to a less hectic rhythm as mine sped up. A moan at the gate interrupted our absorbed moment, and we took notice of the small crowd around our door. Sharing a look, I bit my lip coyly as he smirked, ideas for a show quickly formulating in both our heads.

-

For a good hour we kept it up, switching positions and alternating dominance, neither of us coming at the same time, making silent challenges to each other. My thong had long since been ripped to shreds, and his briefs were discarded on the floor, covered in cum. Our last time he was on top, my back propped against the large sofa’s arm with his hands gripping the edge, cock buried deep. Simon’s fingers teased my now well-stimulated clit into orgasm, pulling himself out immediately as it started. Grasping the twitching member, his legs straightened to press the tip to my breasts.

After a moment to clear my head of the last waves rolled through me, I took his invitation to give him the best tit fuck of his life, coupled by the best blowjob. Simon’s hands both gripped the couch-arm beside my head, and soon I could hear it creaking from the tension. His hips glided his cock past my breasts, past my lips, smooth despite his obvious desperation. His pace sped up quickly, and I sucked as he pushed in, repeatedly flicking the head with my tongue as he pulled away.

His legs tensed further when he came, half in my mouth and half over my chest, his cock and my chin dripping with his cum as he pulled away. I did my best to make a show of licking up the mess, swallowing the thick salty cream. As he slumped against me I took the chance to pull him down, one arm encircling his neck as the other rested on his hand, guiding him. I let him rest his forehead against mine, dark eyes reflecting nothing but his own content, my own schooled similarly.

Without betraying my intentions, my thumb slipped over the back of his hand and pressed down into a pressure point. Simon’s body seized, his breath exhaling in a gasp as his muscles rippled and tensed, stopped. Relying on the dark of the room to keep my actions hidden from our many viewers, I rubbed another spot on the back his head, just above his neck. His eyes widened briefly at me before shutting entirely as I jabbed my other thumb into the second point. Carefully lowering him to the sofa, I made an effort of positioning him comfortably, grabbing his ankles and putting them up. I nipped the locker key from his boot, tucking it into my corset with the room key.

With not a single care for my appearance I left the room, scooping my thong from the floor on the way out and pushing through the small mass of people gathered as I headed for the nearest rest room. After cleaning myself up I replaced my breasts into the corset, loosening the ties to make more room for them, and made my way back to my locker. Donning the track suit, I made sure to leave the zipper half done, allowing a view of a generous amount of cleavage. I left the key in the lock with all of Simon’s things untouched, a small thanks to the Brit for an entertaining morning.

Leaving through the back door, I found two tall, muscled men in camo pants and thick sweaters smoking cigars. With a trained eye I could spot several well-concealed weapons, the masses of which left slight bulges or creases in their clothes. My best educated guess was that they were Simon’s back up, staking the place out and guarding the building of the potential mission-fuck-upper or him perhaps. Shoving down my fear and sudden urge to walk quickly away, I paused myself, light curiosity crossing my face as they stared at me. I made an effort to check them out, eyes roving over their builds. I bit my lip at the mohawked man, tilting my head in false invitation. They bought it, two sets of eyebrows rising at my boldness. I walked in the opposite direction slowly with a quirk of my lips, making to look like I was waiting for them, exaggerating sways to my hips. They stayed put, the mohawked man turning his head away politely, the other smiling rather apologetically.

I pouted, and continued my non-rushed pace out the alley. Holy shit that was lucky for me, all things considering. If only getting out of the city or country would be that easy, with three hunters on my ass – the target’s gang, my client’s gang for fucking up the job, and Simon’s crew for fucking up their job. After this, I’m moving to Canada for a year, work on some property theft-based jobs. Safe enough, right? At least safer than sleeping with a ghost.


End file.
